


Lost Boy

by Bakerstreethound



Series: Lost Boy [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlock Holmes/Reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24754450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakerstreethound/pseuds/Bakerstreethound
Summary: It’s been two years since the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes had his great fall. You, however, still not over his demise are contacted by his brother Mycroft to pick up the broken pieces of Moriarty’s network, but only after you begin your path of healing and reconciliation.
Relationships: John Watson - Relationship, Mycroft Holmes - Relationship, Romantic-Relationship - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes/Female reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, The Holmes Family - Relationship
Series: Lost Boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790131
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	1. Two Years Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this series! I'm on Tumblr @bakerstreethound if you want to check out some more content (:

You groaned inaudibly, prying your eyes open despite your body’s complaints. Your ears picked up the faintest whisper of the pattering rain against the windows and you smiled to yourself. 

  
_At least this is the only good thing about living in London. Rain and the fog. But don’t forget about the detective. Oh right, **him**._

You grimaced as your feet finally touched the floor making way to your wardrobe, selecting a pair of comfortable black jeans, pairing it with a deep navy blue t-shirt. Your light black coat followed soon after. 

  
Without so much as a goodbye to the kind landlady downstairs, you rushed away, determined to leave the flat that haunted you so. Far too many memories lingered there, pressing on you a burden you bore all on your own. It wasn’t your fault you missed him, hell, you still weren’t over him and look where it got you. 

The blinking signs of the cafe greeted you before you swung open the door, determined not to be recognized by anyone. Alas, almost anyone who was anyone would notice you from the papers, but at least John had the forethought to keep the press at bay. He was technically your only lifeline through it all, and yet you could feel yourself losing your internal battle day by day.

Nothing ever felt like it was going to be normal again. You just missed everything about him. His smile, god, the wall shooting, and even the late-night rendezvous no matter how bizarre they were. And to top it all off, you were engaged before it happened. 

  
Before humpty, dumpty had his great fall. 

  
You had no idea what to do with your life then. That was two years ago. Two years your beloved, arrogant man was gone, deceased, vanished from the earth, as you now recalled, sitting in his chair for weeks crying yourself to sleep. The great cloud of smoke hung in the air, sucking the life right out of you if you could even call it that anymore. 

There was no use living without the thrill of the chase. You sorely missed the blood pumping drilling in your veins while out on a chase with the boys. You couldn’t still wish he was around. It had been two years, but you knew your heart still belonged to him, no matter how difficult, arrogant, or completely stubborn the man was. It had taken three years after all before you both could even bring yourselves to admit your feelings, let along display any affection. Such stubborn arses trying to deny what their emotions were. Though, you always knew he trusted his own logic over any emotion. You did too in your own way, but it all seemed to make sense after his touch triggered what felt like every nerve ending in your body. 

He was your fuse and he finally lit you and now, it was all but scattered ash in the wind. 

****** 

You recoiled as you found yourself a seat, the sweet smell of bread and spices mingling in the air. Your stomach protested as you caved and bought a coffee, waiting in silent subjection. You didn’t want to see him, but he insisted. That or otherwise you’d be dead by now and your heart couldn’t take it anymore. You took a sip, blanching at the horrendous liquid as it all but scorched your throat. _Well that’s how it’s going to fucking be now, is it? Just wonderful_. 

“Looks like you could use some company.” 

  
You tapped a finger against the glossy table, unamused. “Thanks, not interested.”

  
“Come on maybe for an old friend, at least?”

  
Your eyes glanced up at the person before you and you felt an easy smile grace your lips. “Hello, Greg.” He smiled at you, in his easy way, pulling up a chair and making himself comfortable. 

  
“Fancy seeing you at a place like this. Coffee is bloody awful!” 

  
You raised a brow, chuckling. “I’d say so after having my own throat burned.” 

  
His eyes rolled with amusement.

  
“Seriously, though. What’s gotten you to a place like this?”

  
“I have no idea, but why bother asking when you know quite well what’s going on?” 

  
“I never said I did,” he took a sip of his drink, wincing. “Don’t look now but I think there’s someone else here who needs your attention.” 

_Obviously._

  
Instinctively, you grasped his hand, willing him to stay. And you weren’t looking forward to it in the slightest as your new visitor took the seat opposite you and Lestrade. 

  
“Charming day it is. Surprised to see you here, Detective Inspector. What qualms do you have here with my dear sister-in-law? Or, should I say, the one that would have been.” 

“None that I can recall. I happened to be en route to here today and thought I’d stop by for a drink. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oh, I suppose not, if your ulterior motivations were straight.”

“What the hell do you want, Mycroft? Enough of this nonsense. Please make this worth my time so I don’t regret not spending it elsewhere.” You willed your hands in fists, setting them in your lap. 

  
“It’s not like you have anywhere else to be. What, you’ve been stuck in that dingy flat for ten months just about, barely getting by with a minimum wage job and supplementing with Lestrade’s income.” 

  
“It’s not like that at all,” Greg protested. “I’m helping her out as a friend.”

  
“And do friends usually sleepover at each other’s flats?” 

  
“She was-”

  
“Drunk, Mycroft.” You seethed as Greg reached for your hand, not caring about Mycroft’s lingering gaze as he tapped his umbrella against the linoleum floor in thought. “Nothing happened. I was out of my mind and needed somewhere to go.”

  
Mycroft shook his head in disbelief. “You’re in worse shape than I thought.”

  
Greg snapped. “You expect her to be better than this? She’s not had your support for months Mycroft so why do you come to her now wanting to see if she is alright?”   
“Greg, would you mind giving us a moment?”

  
“Are you sure?”

  
“I am. We need to get family matters in order.” 

  
His brow furrowed in suspicion. He knew you could stand up for yourself by a long shot anyways. He let loose a resigned sigh, not bothering to take his coffee with him.   
“Alright then. You know how to get a hold of me.” 

  
With the swing of the door, Mycroft’s gaze held on you unwavering. “Well, sister mine?”

  
“First off, I’m no sister to anybody, nor am I yours. I pledged my heart to another long ago and frankly, I don’t want to talk about it. Let along not here of all placed. It’s a fucking shithole.” 

  
“I guess my agents were wrong about you after all.”

  
“Surely, I thought you knew me better than that, being my family and all. Also, you can cut it out with the so-called ‘brotherly surveillance’ shit. I had quite enough of it already growing up.”

  
“Ah, the disastrous fate of being a single child. How boring that must be.”

  
“Trust me, when I married your brother, the family was the last thing on my mind.”

  
You fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead folding your arms across your chest. 

  
“Then what was it, pray tell?” 

  
“Why do you ask when you already know the answer?” 

  
He sighed, easing out of the chair. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

  
Extending his arm to you, you knew you had no choice in the matter. The door swung soundlessly as a sleek black car pulled up outside the tires crunching on the gravel. 

_Thank goodness for flats, what use would you be with a twisted ankle?_ Not to mention if you just so happened to do that, you wouldn't want Nanny Mycroft around. Just the thought was painful enough. 

  
You avoided eye contact as you slide into the car without as much of a word to the driver, which suited you both, you don't want to be too familiar with all his cronies. In all honesty, you just wanted to be back home in bed either sleeping or reading, trying to forget the sorrow that slowly ate away at you every day. 

  
“So, brother,” you mocked, proceeding to tap your finger impatiently on the car door. “Is it of any use to ask where we’re going?”

  
“Thought it’d be obvious to you. We’re going to pay my parents a visit.”

  
“You have got to be joking.”

  
He smiled warily, leaning his head back on the leather headrest. “I never joke.”


	2. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two years since the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes had his great fall. You, however, still not over his demise are contacted by his brother Mycroft, to pick up the broken pieces of Moriarty’s network, but only after you begin your path of healing and reconciliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Lost Boy. I'm not sure if I'll write anymore for this.

“Checkmate.”

“How the bloody hell did you manage to do that?” You sighed in defeat. 

“Because…” Mycroft paused for inflection. “I’m the smart one.”

“Haha, you do have a fair point, though I’m pretty sure I nail the Dewey decimal system better than you.”

He gave a faint smile. “That you do, possibly but not too likely.” 

“What are you two bickering about now?” 

Wanda smiled in her pursuit of something edible in the refrigerator. She somehow managed to retrieve a gigantic carton of orange juice, pouring a glass and setting it before you. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. I’m just giving your eldest a difficult time is all.”

“I’m sure he appreciates that immensely. He’s always itching for something to keep him on his toes.” 

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” you grinned, taking a sip of the delicious tea, feeling a twinge of guilt tie itself into a knot in your stomach. 

“‘We’ll be having dinner in about thirty minutes or so. Care to stick around, Mikey? I’m sure your friend must be famished. It looks like she hasn’t had a good meal in months.” 

It was true. Your grief had taken a turn for the worst longer than those six months. 

“I’d be delighted if it’s not a bother.”

Wanda beamed, winking at Mycroft as she passed by him. He tugged on her sleeve, standing next to her whispering in her ear. She cast her gaze over to you eyes lighting with…pity?…sorrow? 

You hadn’t the slightest clue, nor did you care. She would have a total fit if she knew her middle child was gone and left nothing but an obscure daughter-in-law she barely met, let alone understood. You discreetly fumbled with the band on your finger, switching it over to rest on your right ring finger. 

Dinner seemed to last forever, and you were glad when you collapsed on the bed of the small room Mrs. Holmes- Wanda, she’d insisted on you calling her that or mum- had led you. 

You sighed, remembering the brevity with which Mycroft delivered you information about disbanding the private sector of Moriarty’s network only someone of your expertise could handle. 

I’ll inform you more tomorrow. You need to rest. 

His words echoed, surprisingly reassuring. Mycroft may well be the British Government, but he did have a heart, especially when it came to complicated familial matters. 

“My my you couldn’t even survive one family dinner with the poor in-laws. What’s it like, trying not to break the news of your happy engagement? Or was it more of an elopement than marriage? Such a shame you didn’t have the chance of a honeymoon.” 

The door clicked shut, and in turn, you flinched, greeted with Jim’s trademark smirk. He swaggered up to you, grasping your shoulders. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” His hold remained unwavering, tightening in a friendly squeeze. They were soon gone as he sauntered over to the chair by your bedside. 

“Oh come on now, isn’t that not the proper way to greet me? It’s been so long.” 

“It’s been six months, give or take.”

You grumbled, wanting sleep caressing you in its embrace.

“What would mummy and daddy think?”

The familiar snap of gum filled the air as he proceeded to munch contentedly, waiting. You were utterly angry and confused. What would Jim fucking Moriarty be wanting from you? And yeah, you should’ve been afraid of your husband’s killer, and yet he was here associating with you as if you went out for tea each Saturday afternoon. 

The reality of your situation snapped into place from your waterlogged brain. “Get out of my goddamn room.”

“Aww, that’s cute, but it’s not yours, is it?”

“I’m not going even to bother asking how the hell or why you are here. If this is you tying to offer another request, you are sorely mistaken if I ever would accept it.”

“I missed you. After all that drama with Sherlock,” he shook his head in resignation. “I just, I felt compelled to send you my condolences. Personally.”

“You’re the one who belongs in a grave, not him,” you didn’t even comprehend the tears dripping down your face. You weren’t the one who stood by his grave with John, heading into the unknown, fearing for your future, or how the hell you were going to bypass your grief!” 

You wiped away a tear, desperately wanting to slap the unmarred face of your nemesis. “You have a lot of fucking nerve, Jim.” 

“I know I do,” he lifted a shoulder, flicking his wrist as if he were a preening cat relishing in being adored. “Which is why I need your help.”

“Do you have any idea what shit I’m in already?” You snarled.

“Mycroft has recruited me to destroy you and the rest of your bloody network.”

“And that’s…a bad thing? It takes a lot to ruin a fine specimen such as I.”

“Cut the shit, Jim. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t necessarily let Mycroft -my fucking brother in law mind you- know you showed up in my damn room demanding I work…,” you cleared your throat covering your mishap, “worked with you.”

“Why is nothing ever simple with you all? Family, it’s rather a bore, isn’t it? Such a shame you married into one. My philosophy is to have friends and make them your own. Nemesis work. They make the heart grow fonder, it seems. ”

“Uh, huh, so I see. Jim, what we had, it wasn’t I don’t look back fondly on those times.”

“Your loss.” Another flick of the tongue and his gum snapped, pulling his lips into a satisfied grin. “But then again, you did always enjoy it.” 

“Jim, stop.”

“Oh, we’re already at that now, aren’t we? When was the last time I heard that was…,” he tilted his chin into the sky, eyes bright. “OH! Your parents kicked you out. Such a shame wasn’t it? All that regret you carry. Just a grad student in University with nowhere to run, making her way through the streets with nothing-nothing but the clothes on her back and a handful of precious books.”

It took all your resolve for you to hold your tongue. The kindling in your chest was sparking, and you knew you couldn’t let loose. Not this time. Of all the times it happened, it couldn’t be here. You willed your hands into fists, daring to lean back and sit on them as you eased yourself on the bed. 

“Such a shame all that wasted talent falling woohoo splat down the drain. The fall is what kills you, isn’t it? What would poor Sherlock think?” 

At the mention of your friend’s name, if you would even call him your husband anymore, it made your throat seize. You took a few breaths steadying yourself, Jim’s hands clasped in his lap. He glanced down at you sympathetically. 

“Don’t. Jim. Never speak his name to me again. He’s gone because of you.” 

Your throat constricted, and you swallowed hard, hoping to a higher power, you could retain what little resolve you had left. 

“I suppose you want to kill me, then?”

You chose your words carefully, speaking slowly, precisely. 

“I want you to leave, and I don’t want to see your face for a long while.”

“So you do want to see me again, eh?”

You simply lifted your right index finger to the door, ignoring the glint of your ring as it shimmered against the moonlight. 

“Get. the fuck out of my-this room and this house.”


End file.
